To Die Will Be An Awfully Big Adventure
by LolaCherryColaGirl
Summary: "Where do I keep what?" she sighed. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow, leaning heavily against her bookcase "The painkillers. I did just jump off of a roof, you know."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**To Die Will Be An Awfully Big Adventure**

_Chapter One_

"Where do you keep them, Molly?"

Molly Hooper had only just entered her flat, exhausted physically and emotionally and she was not in the mood to be growled at by one Sherlock Holmes. Even Toby, her usually indifferent cat, seemed aggravated by the man's presence. He weaved in and out between Molly's legs.

"Where do I keep what?" she sighed.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow, leaning heavily against her bookcase "The painkillers. I did just jump off of a roof, you know."

Scattering her coat, purse and scarf on the floor Molly locked her front door "Yes, Sherlock, I do know! In fact I just finished 'your' autopsy, declaring 'you' dead, breaking the heart of your best friend."

Telling himself it was the pain caused by the injuries he'd acquired from his jump that were making his blue eyes glassy looking, Sherlock slowly let himself drop onto the floor of Molly's living room.

"Oh, oh no!" Molly rushed to his side and used her body to support him and drag him onto her sofa, laying him down so she could examine his wounds. She pulled off his shoes, coat and began unbuttoning his shirt. It annoyed her that her fingers trembled, the more of his skin she exposed.

"I know." He said suddenly, piercing her with that look of his that meant he was deducting. It made her feel completely naked, as if he could read every chapter of her life should he so wish.

He had bled through the gaze she had wrapped his waist with earlier on right after they'd faked his death "K-know what?" – trembling or not her fingers made quick work of cutting it off and cleaning his cut.

Sherlock closed his eyes when he found the answer he'd been looking for "I know why you haven't got any pain meds for me."

"Yes?" Molly got up from the sofa to fetch some more gaze.

"You're afraid I can't control it. That I'll get addicted. Again." he pointed out and delighted in the way Molly froze, mid-step. _Nailed it!_

She turned around slowly "You're right, of course. Now give me two minutes of peace to dress your wound and I'll get you a scotch."

"Yipee." Sherlock sarcastically squeaked.

"Don't be nasty!" she admonished him as if she was scalding a child.

After pouring a tumbler of scotch for Sherlock and herself Molly escaped to her bedroom for a moment, to collect her thoughts. It was beginning to sink in that she had just gone through with her promise to Sherlock, to assist him in faking his death and let him hide out in her flat until his brother could whisk him off somewhere he apparently had to get to.

Who knew how long or short his stay would be. She couldn't even open her curtains at the chance of someone seeing him through her windows. Would someone notice when she began buying more groceries than usual or products for men? Should she have a cover story?

Tiredly she grabbed the first pair of pajamas she could reach in her drawer and changed into them, taking a calming breath before going back into the living room.

Despite her instructions and his pain, Sherlock was sitting up on the sofa across from Mycroft who occupied the armchair, nursing his own drink. Molly stopped dead in her tracks and regretted the cupcake patterned pajamas she'd put on.

"Hello Dr. Hooper."

Willing her cheeks not to redden, Molly tilted her head "Hello Mr. Holmes, what are you doing here?"

"Boring me." Sherlock groaned and pretended it was voluntary.

Mycroft rose from the chair, inscrutable as ever, "I merely needed to relay some information to my brother regarding his charade."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the choice of the word 'charade'.

A throat was cleared and it shocked Molly to see that Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, were in her flat as well, standing in the background with her phone in one hand and a small suitcase in the other.

"Oh right, I've had some things brought over for Sherlock. It could raise suspicion if you were to acquire these, given your marital status Dr. Hooper." Mycroft explained, handing over the suitcase to Molly.

"Yes I thought about that." Molly squeaked, not used to being in the company of so many Holmes' in such limited space.

Mycroft frowned, halfway to her front door where Anthea was already waiting "You did?"

"Oh yes, Mycroft, my pathologist is very smart for an ordinary person." Sherlock boasted and now it was Molly's turn to frown.

"_A_ pathologist, not his." She cemented.

"Right. Well I will be in touch brother. And do lay down, you're obviously exhausted by pretending not to be in pain." The door shut after Mycroft and it alarmed Molly to hear him lock it from the outside, did that man have access to everything?

Stubbornly carrying on for half a minute longer, Sherlock finally succumbed and lay down on the sofa once more.

Molly offered to make tea, but he didn't want any. She offered to turn on the telly, but he didn't want her to. She then offered him food, but he insisted that he wasn't hungry.

So finally she grabbed a book from her quite vast selection and curled up with Toby in the armchair to read it. She had read it before, it was a classic, but she found it hard to make sense of the words on the page with Sherlock's eyes constantly on her.

"Read to me." he finally demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me, read to me. My mind and body is in uproar I need numbing." He explained, waiting expectantly.

Going back to the first page, Molly cleared her throat and began reading with a steady voice _"All children, except one, grow up."_

Many hours later, well into the night, Molly's head dropped onto her chest and she had fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. It quite annoyed Sherlock, as he had actually enjoyed the story of Peter Pan.

Luckily Molly had procured a blanket for him earlier and he covered himself with it and was surprised he recognized the scent, but he couldn't identify it from the list of perfumes on his blog.

Toby jumped from his mistress' lap and padded to his cat bed, which caused Molly to stir slightly and Sherlock contemplated if he should wake her up so she could continue her sleep in bed. But knowing the solitude he would soon be facing he selfishly let her sleep.

Exhaustion was winning over him as well and he closed his eyes, before murmuring something from the story that had caught his interest _"To die will be an awfully big adventure."_

0o0

A loud thud woke Molly up the next morning. The book had dropped from her hands onto the floor. Standing up she stretched her sore body and relished it when a few joints popped back into place. Sherlock was still on the sofa, eyes closed, but she wasn't sure he was sleeping.

Toby scratched at his food bowl and Molly got the hint, changing his water as well.

She was happy her supervisor at St. Bart's had insisted she take some days off after losing her close friend and even performing the autopsy herself. Her mind was a clutter of thoughts and she wouldn't have been able to focus on doing her job properly.

Until she heard the water boil, Molly had forgotten she'd put the kettle on for tea. Sherlock still hadn't acknowledged her presence, but she poured two cups anyhow and went to hand him one.

"I know you're not sleeping, so please sit up and drink this." Molly asked, taking a sip herself and letting the warmth spread through her.

Sherlock mumbled something into the sofa cushion which Molly didn't understand until he repeated himself, still without moving "You told me not to sit."

He was acting like a small child and Molly rolled her eyes; honestly if she wasn't hopelessly in love with him she might have pushed him off a roof herself "That was yesterday, I have to find out how you're doing today."

His groans and troubles seemed real enough and with shaking breath Molly made a decision "I am going to put you in a bath and then pop off to the shop for a bit, alright?"

"You hardly need my permission, Molly."

A second after Sherlock heard the bathroom door slam.

Frustrated by his behavior, though not surprised, Molly almost forgot to regulate the temperature of the bath. Once the tub was full she walked into her open kitchen, connected to her living room and Sherlock wondered what she was doing when she filled an egg cup with milk and then three drops of lavender oil.

It was to be mixed into his bathwater as lavender oil is anti-bacterial and would help keep his cuts clean.

Once Sherlock deducted this, he huffed "Oh really Molly, you don't believe in such magic tricks, do you?" – he was genuinely surprised and it pleased Molly she could have that effect on him.

"It's not a magic trick Sherlock. Now grab hold around my neck and I'll help you into the loo." It was a struggle for the two of them, him being so much larger, but still it was nothing compared to the challenge that met them once they were inside the bathroom.

Undressing Sherlock.

She had already laid out a folded towel and some of the clothes Mycroft had brought over for him, but first she needed to get him out of his current ones.

Socks were easy. Shirt as well, after all she'd taken it off the night before also. She'd sat him on the toilet to maneuver more easily around him and it almost annoyed her that he didn't seemed to be fazed by the fact that he was about to be naked in front of her. Of course to him it was just human anatomy, not something to get excited by.

At least he wasn't making any scathing remarks, not even when she fell over her words as she had to ask him to lift up slightly so she could drag his trousers and boxers off. Immediately after she used her small frame to support him and walked the few steps to the tub like on a tightrope; _do not look down._

Molly closed her eyes while Sherlock steadied himself with one hand on her shoulder and another against the wall as he climbed into the tub and gratefully sank into the water.

"The hot water should hopefully alleviate some of your pain, and I won't be gone for too long. Do not try to get out by yourself." Molly instructed before handing him her copy of _Peter Pan _to read while he sat in the bath.

She was almost out the door when she heard him "Thank you Molly."

Not knowing what to say she just nodded before grabbing her purse and rushing down the stairs and into the nearest Sainsbury's.

She had no idea what to feed Sherlock, so she filled her basket with an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables and other staples like eggs, milk, bread and butter. When she got the wine section she wondered how a soft spoken 'Thank you' could apparently be enough for her to erase his childish antics.

Grabbing two bottles of wine, they were on offer, she decided to get some treats and then hurry back home. She'd just gotten a packet of her favorite biscuits when her mobile rang. She recognized the caller, but considered not answering.

"Hello."

0o0

When Sherlock heard the front door open he hoped it was Molly back from the shop and not Mycroft back for another visit as he was still stuck in the bathtub with a children's book and smelling like lavender.

He heard soft footsteps and immediately relaxed "Molly!" he shouted "The water is cold, what took you so long?"

Sherlock thought he heard her sigh before coming to his aid. Noticing her face, he frowned "You've been crying."

"Yes." Molly sniffed, adjusting the heavy bags in her hands "John called me."

"I know," Sherlock said impatiently "but you know I'm not dead. So why did you cry? Oh!" he cried out, realizing "You're very good at this act, aren't you?"

Considering he had just praised her Sherlock was surprised when Molly sent an apple flying in the direction of his head.

0o0

A couple of hours later Sherlock was back on the couch and Molly again sat in the armchair across from him. She had made them both an omelet and demanded he eat something, before she turned on the television.

Sherlock picked at the food, he still didn't feel hungry. His entire body ached and he felt like his mind was violently trying to escape from his body, looking for something to do. The chattering from the television certainly didn't help and neither did Molly's foul expression ever since she'd come back from the shop.

She stabbed at her omelet with her fork and the clinging sounds felt like needles poking his skin until Sherlock couldn't stand it any longer "Will you shut off that infernal device!"

Molly jumped in surprise, but quickly fumbled for the remote. Even immobile on the sofa, Sherlock looked like he could kill. His eyes had darkened and made him look like a madman.

Frustrated, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair "Sorry!"

"You're still shouting." Molly cautiously pointed out.

"I know!" Sherlock shouted.

Molly sat her plate down on the coffee table between them and walked around it, sitting at opposite end of the sofa where Sherlock's feet rested on top of a few pillows. She grabbed one in her hands and began kneading it in strategic places.

"Reflexology?" Sherlock hissed, but at least he was quieter now.

"Yes." Molly nodded, focusing on the points that affected his lower back, which had to be hurting.

He scoffed "More magic tricks."

Lifting her head to look at him, Molly smiled "Is it helping?"

Sherlock didn't answer; he merely closed his eyes and let her continue her administrations. Molly didn't know how long she worked on him when he suddenly opened his eyes again "Read to me."

"What?"

"Like last night." Sherlock specified, unsure how she couldn't understand such a simple request.

Molly placed his feet back on the pillows "Alright, what would you like to hear?"

"Surprise me."

Looking over her bookshelves, Molly ultimately picked out a medical text book, thinking it would interest Sherlock more than Jane Austen novels.

"Don't read me something I already know!"

It would appear she was wrong.

Although it wasn't exactly the season for it, Molly chose _A Christmas Carol_, a Dickens classic. Like the day before she sat in the armchair with Toby curled up in her lap and Sherlock closed his eyes in anticipation.

"_Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that."_

She only paused twice. Once to get them tea and biscuits and once to help Sherlock use the bathroom.

"_And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us every one!" _Molly finished and closed the book, idly scratching Toby between his ears. The cat purred and Sherlock almost looked envious at the content creature.

"So, did you enjoy it?" Molly tentatively asked. It could be hard to tell with Sherlock Holmes.

He nodded "Quite. Scrooge reminded me of Mycroft."

At that Molly giggled and Sherlock raised the corners of his mouth into a small smile. It was almost as if they were just a couple sharing a quiet evening together. Outside the sky was darkening and Molly reheated his omelet from earlier and served it for dinner. This time he ate it.

He still struggled with the pain when he tried to sit up and Molly bit her lip "Is the sofa very uncomfortable?"

"Indeed." Sherlock confirmed, chewing on a piece of bell pepper.

"Would you like to, I mean we can share, you know, my bed. If you'd like." Molly felt very odd to proposition Sherlock like this.

Sherlock slowly set the almost empty plate down "I would like that." he accepted.

Instantly Molly's cheeks flared red "Right. Well I'll just, tidy up a bit." She didn't know why she was rushing, but she quickly changed the sheets into fresh ones, shoved strewn about clothes into the closet, hid her teddy bear and put on a set of pajamas, this time with sheep on them.

After brushing her own teeth she fetched a bowl to hold up for Sherlock so he could brush his while seated on the sofa to spare him the walk to the bathroom. Even though the day had been very uneventful they were both tired and once Sherlock was tucked in on the left side of the bed, Molly happily slid under the covers on her usual side.

The feeling of being just a normal couple came sneaking back and Molly savored it for a while.

"Tomorrow we should start planning my funeral. Goodnight."

Well, maybe not quite normal.

**A/N: **This will be a two shot, maybe three parts if I can't keep the plot bunnies at bay. I would very much appreciate a review as this is my first time writing Sherlock and he's quite a character.

**X X X LolaCherryColaGirl**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything.

**To Die Will Be An Awfully Big Adventure**

_Chapter Two_

The next morning Molly woke up almost on the edge of the bed, on her side with her knees drawn up in the fetal position. She was a little disappointed that Sherlock hadn't reached for her, subconsciously while sleeping.

She was very surprised she hadn't reached for him.

"Are you finally awake?" Sherlock complained "A very persistent Robin on the perch of your window has been twittering for the last hour."

Molly rolled onto her back and felt around on her bedside table blindly, until she found her wristwatch and held it up close to her eyes "It's only six am, Sherlock."

"I know!" he said impatiently.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes Molly helped Sherlock out of bed, into a blue dressing gown (his favorite was still at Baker Street, so John wouldn't be suspicious, but Mycroft had known where to buy a similar one) and into the bathroom.

He was moving around a lot more easily and Molly didn't feel nervous closing the bathroom door behind her while she headed for the kitchen to make coffee; tea simply wasn't strong enough at this hour.

She put two slices of bread on the toaster and then zoned out so long they were black around the edges when she finally fished them off again. She buttered both the pieces and put one on a plate for Sherlock while eating the other leaned over her kitchen sink.

It occurred to her that he should be done in the bathroom by now and when she heard the shower running she immediately dropped what was left of her toast and rushed into the bathroom, thankful he hadn't locked the door.

"Sherlock you really shouldn't be…"

"Hello Molly." Sherlock calmly greeted her, one foot already in the tub while he was bracing himself against the wall to fully step inside it and under the running showerhead.

Molly swallowed audibly.

He was naked. Again. This time she wasn't prepared for it and she couldn't help but look. And boy was there a lot to look at "I … um … yoou…" she dragged out the word, unsure what she wanted to say. Sherlock stood still, waiting for her to finish her sentence, almost politely.

_Naked. _

"Do you want coffee?" Molly finally stuttered and Sherlock accepted her offer.

She turned around and walked out the door to pour him a cup, but two minutes later she was back in the bathroom. By now Sherlock looked vaguely annoyed "Could you, um, sit? In the tub I mean. I worry about you falling."

"I am feeling much better Molly, I will not fall. Here, come inspect my wound if you must." Sherlock offered and Molly flushed bright red.

"No!" she gasped, holding up both her hands in front of her as if to keep him from coming closer "I mean, I'll just stay here. Well obviously not here, I meant, you know, out there."

Molly walked out for the second time, bit her lip, giggled and then wished she had a mind palace of her own to forever preserve the memory of one naked Sherlock Holmes!

0o0

After Sherlock had had his coffee and taken one or two bites of his toast, the two of them sat down with pen, paper and Molly's laptop "Alright, so you want to plan your funeral. Where do we begin?"

"You have to call John." Sherlock demanded.

The color drained from Molly's face "I can't." she insisted.

"Don't you have his number?" he inquired and Molly sighed "Yes."

"Are your fingers hurting?"

"No." Molly pressed out between gritted teeth.

"Is there something wrong with your phone then?"

"Oh Sherlock!" Molly groaned "I am able to call John, I just … can't."

Sherlock frowned "Why not?"

"Because it hurts, Sherlock. Okay! He hurts and I could end that hurt with a single sentence, instead I pile on lies." Molly explained, getting teary eyed like when she talked to John the day before.

"Is he really taking it that bad?" Sherlock asked.

Molly nodded and then narrowed her eyes "Why are you smirking? Oh my god! You're enjoying it, aren't you? You're actually so vain that you enjoy knowing people mourn your death!"

His smirk faltered and his eyes darkened "I do not enjoy hurting John Watson. I just never expected that anyone would care or notice if I died."

Molly's heart ached at his words and she spontaneously hugged him "Many people would care! Many people do now." she assured him. He sat stiff as a board until she removed her arms.

"Now, please call John and tell him you will be arranging the funeral. You've got my doppelganger at St. Bart's still, yes?"

"Yes." Molly said, she still couldn't believe Moriarty had managed to find a man similar looking to Sherlock, changed his face with plastic surgery to be almost exactly like Sherlock, used the man to frighten two children and then he had killed him once he'd served his purpose. It was their luck the body had been brought to St. Bart's.

Finding John in her list of contacts she dialed his number. Silently she was praying for him not to pick up the phone.

And luckily her prayers were answered when it went straight to voice-mail "Hello John. This is Molly. Hooper," she added nervously "I just wanted to call and let you know that I will be arranging Sherlock's funeral. You don't have to worry about that. Just … call me back when you get this message. Bye John."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but Molly beat him to it "Just don't speak for thirty seconds, please." She put her head in her hands and tried to come to terms with all the lies she was tangled up in by now.

Precisely thirty seconds later Sherlock spoke "I already have a space picked out for my tombstone, I let Mycroft know and he promised to purchase it after I 'died' so that's already done." He showed her on the laptop.

"Pretty spot." Molly said "Why there?"

"Because I'll be able to hide behind the trees, but still see the whole thing." Sherlock explained as if she was dumb.

"No!" Molly surprised herself by how hard she hit the table "You're going to attend your own funeral?"

Blinking a couple of times Sherlock said "I think you'll find most people do."

Molly rolled her eyes "That's not what I meant. I did not risk my career to fake your death and then have you traipsing out a week later and be seen!"

Sherlock glared at her "I do not traipse!" – And that was all he said on the matter.

An hour later they had arranged the flowers, the casket and the very short guest list.

"Now for my tombstone, I know I want it black with gold writing, but I don't think it should be dated? Do you? It just seems tacky considering I am not actually dead." He was so sincere about this conundrum Molly sunk down into her armchair "You are enjoying this way too much."

In the end they agreed it should just read 'Sherlock Holmes' and Molly ordered it online with the promise that Mycroft would cover her expenses. She called John and left another message with the time and date, then she called Mrs. Hudson who was obviously crying.

"How wonderful of you to take care of that dear."

"Of course Mrs. Hudson. I left a message for John, but could you maybe tell him as well?" Molly asked.

"Oh John isn't here," Mrs. Hudson sniffled "he's staying with Mike Stamford, I believe."

Molly didn't blame John for not wanting to stay at Baker Street for the moment, but she hoped he turned on his phone back on soon and heard her messages.

"I think that's everyone." Sherlock declared, but Molly hesitated "What about your parents?"

"Oh," Sherlock's chipper mood faded "They know that I'm not really dead. I had to tell Mycroft that I needed to fake my own death and then he tattled on me to our mum."

Shaking her head Molly said "I honestly don't know if you two are brilliant or mad!" she looked up one more contact on her phone "I guess I just need to call Lestrade."

"Why would Gavin want to attend my funeral?" Sherlock wondered.

"Because Greg is your friend." Molly explained.

After finishing her conversation with Lestrade Molly exhaled heavily "That's everything."

"Not quite," Sherlock corrected her "Molly I'd like you to read something at the funeral."

She was a little surprised at this request and in an odd way she was flattered "Of course. What would you like me to read?"

"You'll find out then." He said secretively and Molly decided it wasn't worth the hassle to try and get it out of him. Instead she got up to take a shower and do some laundry. After all of that was done she came back into the living room to find that Sherlock had rearranged her books alphabetically by author and was now keeping busy by reading John's blog on her laptop.

She knew it was making him crazy being cooped up here in her apartment so she offered to read to him again and he accepted.

Knowing he had huge gaps in basic knowledge, like the solar system, she picked out a classic Shakespeare play _"Two households both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene."_

Molly liked reading Shakespeare out loud, something about the way you could almost sing every line, and wrap your tongue around the words was very erotic to her.

"_For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo." _Molly finished, nearly in a whisper, her skin breaking out in Goosebumps. She looked to Sherlock who was busy picking out some dirt under of one of his nails.

"You didn't like it?"

He looked up from his endeavor "A story where a faked death ended with two real ones? Yes, very uplifting Molly." He snapped and she felt guilty, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

Almost two hours had passed while she was reading and she decided to go out and get some take-away for their lunch. She had to go back to work the next day and she also wanted to find something that could keep Sherlock occupied now that she wouldn't be home all day, but nothing except cigarettes and his violin came to mind.

For a lack of anything more imaginative she bought him some crossword puzzles and a soduko book as well as fish and chips. When she got back to her apartment she wondered what he'd alphabetized by now, but he was still sitting on her couch, reading something that kept him quite captivated and thankfully quiet.

Until "Molly, my name is in this so much you would almost think this was my diary. Honestly, it's worse than your blog." Sherlock declared, flipping a page.

Molly dropped the bags of food on the kitchen counter "You read my blog?" she had once slipped up and written his name, when she'd meant to keep it secret. Then something else sunk in "Wait, you're reading my _diary_?" she screeched.

"Yes. You see, now that I've been staying at your apartment I was doing some deducing and it led me to believe you are the sort to keep a diary, so-"

"Oh go deduct yourself!" Molly shouted, her eyes welling up as she stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Sherlock sat still on the couch and wondered if he would be back sleeping on it later.

He would.

0o0

The next day at St. Bart's Molly had snapped at three people, torn up a report because of spelling error and made an intern cry all before noon. At lunch she sat alone in the canteen stabbing at her salad with a fork and no one attempted to join her at her table.

Everyone agreed that she was really taking the loss of Sherlock Holmes hard and it annoyed Molly that the anger he'd induced in her was only helping to keep his secret apparently. She wanted to shout out that he was in her apartment and driving her bonkers.

The only silver lining she could find was that living with Sherlock might actually be just the thing to cure her eternal pining for him. Just the thought of him having read her diary, which he was right about him frequently starring in, made her consider staying with a friend until Mycroft could finally transport him out of the country and hopefully far, far away.

For the rest of the day no one came into the morgue and Molly was happier than ever that she worked with the dead. At least they didn't ask questions and by the time her shift was over she had calmed down a bit.

The weather was pretty mild so she decided to walk home, also prolonging the time before she'd have to face Sherlock. If he was going to be his usual, arrogant self about this she might actually die of shame.

But by the time she walked into her flat, Sherlock sat in her armchair, deeply involved in solving one of the soduko puzzles in the book she'd bought him. Molly took a quick shower and then reheated the fish and chips they'd never gotten round to eat the day before, pouring herself a glass of wine and offering one to Sherlock too.

She got the food out of the oven and set down a plate for each of them "Sherlock, I want you to know that it was not okay for you to read my diary. That was private."

"Nothing about you is private from me Molly, I can deduce just about any conclusion about you." Sherlock said, not bragging, just making a statement.

"Not everything," Molly said "you don't realize it when you hurt me. Like at John's and yours Christmas party." She reminded him.

Sherlock winced at the thought of that whole night "But you see when I pointed out your small lips and breasts I didn't mean it as a negative. You just perceived it that way because obviously that's what you think."

"I know that Sherlock, but it still wasn't okay to point it out in front of everyone. Just like you didn't need to point out that my boyfriend was gay." Molly explained.

"I was trying to save you from a relationship that would eventually fail anyway!" Sherlock protested and Molly melted inside at the thought of him wanting to protect her.

They ate for a bit in silence until she said "You can sleep in the bed tonight"

Sherlock didn't know what he'd done right, but he knew better than to say anything and push his luck. The sofa was really uncomfortable.

0o0

The following weekend Sherlock's funeral were to be held and Molly woke before him for once, nervous that their charade would fall to pieces today. She had tried to talk Sherlock out of going, but he was adamant about it.

Molly had even contacted Mycroft to let him know what his younger brother had planned, but Mycroft had simply chuckled and told her he'd already known.

Carefully, and while holding her breath, Molly turned over on her side and let her small body rest against Sherlock, enjoying the way his back pressed against her every time he breathed. She allowed herself this one little luxury. Soon enough he would wake up and this wretched day would have to begin.

On the door of her closet she'd hung a suitable black dress, she had ordered a car to pick her up first and then drive by Baker Street to also give Mrs. Hudson a lift. Lestrade and John would be arranging their own transport.

John hadn't called her back until a few days ago, thanking her for arranging the funeral and then sobbing for twenty minutes while she tried to think of something to say to ease his pain. She hadn't come up with anything and Sherlock had sat calmly beside her, solving a crossword puzzle.

When he began stirring, Molly quickly rolled away; embarrassed she'd almost been caught spooning him. He stretched for a bit and then moved to lie on his back just like she was, staring at the ceiling for a while.

"Today we bury me." He solemnly said and Molly couldn't keep herself from finding his hand and giving it a squeeze.

They walked quietly around each other all morning while Molly kept glancing at the clock. She felt like time was going horrendously slow and excruciatingly fast at the same time. Once she was dressed and had nothing else practical to distract her all she could do was make tea and wait.

Sherlock had put on one of his immaculate suits and he also shrugged on the Belstaff coat, flipping the collar up.

"You're wearing that?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow. The coat had become almost a trademark of his by now.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you just wear the hat as well and a sign that says 'I'm not dead'?" she didn't mean to sound so cross, she was just nervous.

Sherlock didn't seem too affected by her tone though "I am going now. I have to get there before you so I won't be seen."

He leaned forward and fleetingly brushed his lips against her forehead "Enjoy my funeral Molly Hooper." he said and disappeared out the door.

Pressing a fingertip to the spot on her forehead that was still warm Molly whispered "I'll try my best." to no one in particular and glanced at the clock again.

0o0

Once the funeral had started Molly almost felt it went too quickly. For all everybody else knew they were burying Sherlock Holmes, a brilliant man. It should not be done in haste.

Once the casket was lowered into the ground, Mycroft dismissed the minister and everyone took turns letting a handful of dirt fall onto the closed lid of the casket. Molly said a silent prayer for the victim within it.

John tried to speak, but his voice broke and right then Molly got a text. It was such an inappropriate time, but she still read it anyway. Just like she'd thought it was from the guest of honor, Sherlock Holmes.

_Check your pocket. S._

Molly followed his instructions and pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. She remembered he'd asked her to read at his funeral and she figured this was the piece he had chosen. Once she scanned it she definitely thought it was of his choosing. She could just imagine him somewhere around here, enjoying watching her read this aloud. The bastard.

With everyone's eyes on her, Molly began reading

"_Do not stand at my grave and weep,_

_I am not there; I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow,_

_I am the diamond glints on snow,_

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain,_

_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry,_

_I am not there; I did not die."_

**A/N: **Oh the cleverness of Sherlock! (Yes that was another Peter Pan reference.) The poem read by Molly is Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye. It's a personal favorite and after season two of Sherlock I think I'll forever connect it with this show. There will be one last chapter to this little ficlet. I hope you enjoyed it and that you will please review.

**X X X LolaCherryColaGirl**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything.

**Dedication: **This one is for Kathmak; thanks for going off on a tangent!

**To Die Will Be An Awfully Big Adventure**

_Chapter Three_

Sherlock wasn't home yet when Molly got back from the funeral after dropping off Mrs. Hudson at Baker Street. It worried her, but for obvious reasons she couldn't call him or ask around for him. She took off her dress to change into her sheep pajamas instead, needing to be comfortable.

She couldn't tell if her mind or body was the most exhausted after today and she curled up on Sherlock's side of the bed, enjoying the way the pillow smelt like him. Toby rested on her feet and Molly enjoyed the warmth when she decided to close her eyes, just for a moment.

Three hours later Molly woke up again and now Sherlock was sitting on her side of the bed, observing her.

"You're back." She mumbled, stretching her legs now that Toby was no longer resting on her feet.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, gently stroking some of her hair away from her face. The soft gesture surprised Molly and before he could remove his hand she let her palm cover his "How are you doing?"

Sherlock looked at their hands, hers so tiny compared to his "I won't be sleeping tonight. Do you think you can stay awake too?" – experiencing his own funeral had been the closest Sherlock had ever come to having his heart broken.

"Of course." Molly promised and made a move to get out of bed, wanting to fetch a few things from the kitchen, but Sherlock's hand caught her wrist.

"You read beautifully at the funeral, Molly, thank you."

Once he let go Molly quickly looked at her wrist; she wouldn't be surprised if the skin was scorched where he'd touched her "Why did you make me read that poem?"

From her tone Sherlock deduced that she thought he'd chosen it to make her uncomfortable. He didn't like that he'd given her reason to expect that of him, so he explained himself "You're uncomfortable lying to John. I chose this poem because now, in some small way, you've told him the truth."

Molly's eyes widened "So … you did it for me?"

Both of them got off the bed now and a warm feeling spread through Molly at the thought that Sherlock Holmes had taken her into consideration.

While she put together a bowl of fruit and a plate with cheese, biscuits and chocolate Sherlock grabbed the bottle of red wine and the rest of the scotch as well as glasses and they carried it all into the bedroom.

Molly kept the lights off and lit a few candles instead. The soft mood made her question if this was all a dream. But Sherlock's anguish seemed brutally real.

"John stayed behind, you know. He was so close I could hear him. He asked me for a miracle," Sherlock took a big gulp of his wine "to not be dead. I wanted so badly to reveal myself, four long strides, that's all it would've taken."

"If there was a way for John to know, he would understand." Molly assured him, but Sherlock frowned.

"How do you know?"

She shrugged "Because I do."

"Yes, but you're special," Sherlock casually waved off her reasoning "and more observant than John."

Molly blushed at the compliment and quickly changed the subject, not wanting to give Sherlock a chance to put his foot in his mouth.

They talked about first day of school, childhood bullies, parents who didn't understand. Isolation. Molly was an only child and Sherlock insisted he would've preferred being an only child. Wanting to be a pirate or a ballerina.

Both of them were getting drunk, but in a languid way, so they almost didn't notice.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Molly was sucking on a piece of chocolate and Sherlock set his tumbler of scotch down on the tray they'd put in the middle of the bed "Molly can I ask you for something?"

"I hope by now you know that you can ask me for anything, Sherlock." Molly promised him, running her tongue across her teeth to clean them of any chocolate.

"Would you dance with me?" Sherlock asked, not letting his blue eyes waver from her.

She was almost more surprised by this request than when he'd asked her to help stage his death.

"Um, of course, if you'd like. I'll go put on some music." Inside the living room Molly put a cd in her stereo and left the bedroom door open behind her so they could hear the music in there. She'd chosen an album with a mix of Motown classics.

Sherlock enveloped her hands in each of his, towering seven inches over her and she leaned her head against his chest, finding the rhythm of his heartbeat. They began swaying.

"_I don't like you, but I love you,_

_See that I'm always, thinking of you,_

_Oh, you treat me badly,_

_I love you madly,_

_You've really got a hold on me"_

Even though their dance was hardly complicated, Molly could still tell Sherlock was an experienced dancer, leading her confidently. His chin rested atop her head and she wondered what brought about this turn in his personality.

Unable to filter her thoughts she blurted out the question.

Sherlock continued dancing "Attending my funeral gave me a glimpse of what you are going through to help me. I think I realized how much you care for me."

Molly didn't know what to say, so she decided to say nothing at all and simply enjoyed the moment, savored it actually.

When the song changed Sherlock slipped his arms around her waist and she reached up to wrap hers around his neck, struggling to reach, but he bent forward a bit. A giggle escaped her.

"What?" Sherlock inquired.

"I'm in my pajamas." Molly giggled again.

Looking from her sheep strewn pajamas to his own suit, Sherlock asked "Do you think I'm overdressed?"

"A bit."

"Why don't your rectify the situation then?" Sherlock challenged her and Molly spluttered something in response.

Once she could tell he was serious, she shyly undid the one button on his jacket, regretting that he had to let go of her waist for a second so she could slide it off him. The buttons of his shirt almost opened themselves, it was so tight. All of his skin bared to her in the candlelight made Molly dizzy and once the shirt was completely off she rested against him again, letting his strong arms hold her up.

By the next song he whispered into her hair "I do believe you're the overdressed one now."

Wondering what she was getting herself into Molly nodded and Sherlock made quick work of her pajamas top, disappointed to find out she wore a small, white tank-top underneath. He could tell she wasn't wearing a bra though.

Sherlock backed both of them up against the bed, dropping down on it first to cushion Molly's fall, both of them careful not to knock over the tray. They quickly sat it down on the floor next to the bed.

"Sherlock," Molly interrupted before he was about to kiss her "please don't do this if you aren't going to see this through. I won't be able to stand it."

Sherlock cupped both of her cheeks and leaned forward to give her a gentle kiss "I promise to finish what I start Molly."

Letting the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just kissed her, with the promise of so much more, sink in, Molly lost her breath a little before wrapping her fingers in the curls at the back of his neck and pulling his face to hers for a much greedier kiss.

Their teeth clashed, she sucked his tongue into her mouth, her fingernails scraped at his soft skin. She had wanted this for so long!

Sherlock seemed to take his time to find out where to put his hands or how to respond to Molly's fervor, so rarely people surprised him and usually it was just his mousy pathologist who accomplished it.

His hands strayed, following their own desires, cupping Molly's small breasts through her tank-top, feeling her body respond to his touch and he grew bolder, pinching once.

Reluctantly Molly released his lips, sat up on her knees and pulled off the tank-top, throwing it behind her with abandon before guiding Sherlock's hands back to where they'd been exploring a moment before. He elicited noises from her she would usually be self-conscious about, but with him it didn't matter.

"I believe if I am to see this through, we both need to get rid of our trousers, Molly." Sherlock whispered against her lips and she nodded, regrettably separating from him. Still caught up in the fever rushing through her body Molly simply raised her bum and slid her pajamas bottoms and her knickers off, kicking them off the bed to land on the floor.

Sherlock neatly folded his suit trousers and placed them on the seat of a chair before climbing back in bed, taking in Molly's naked body displayed before him. The room she and data concerning her occupied in his mind palace resembled the morgue at St. Bart's, but this image just wouldn't fit there.

Her auburn hair and pale skin bathed in candlelight could only belong here. With him. He leaned forward and kissed her sweetly, letting his fingertips dance over her collarbone, breasts and hips.

"Um, Sherlock," Molly had regained her senses somewhat "why now? After all this time, why now?"

Curiously experimenting what her reaction to his tongue on her breast would be Sherlock answered distractedly "Do you think I don't engage in this sort of primal activity?"

"Yes, the fact that you recognized the woman from not her face told me that." Molly bitterly remembered.

Sherlock switched his attentions to the other breast, wondering if it was just as receptive "I was never intimate with The Woman. But if you thought so, then why the question?"

"Because, oh!" Molly gasped; he'd brought his teeth into his experiment "I don't understand why you're engaging in this activity with me."

He let go of her nipple and looked into her eyes "Because you do count Molly. The most"

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked them, moving him closer to her "Then stop experimenting and start experiencing." she demanded, flipping them over so she was on top. She slid down his body, pausing here and there to kiss his skin, but not satisfied until she had his manhood in her mouth.

Sherlock groaned and clutched the sheets in his sweaty palms "Molly, you can't keep going. I won't last." he breathily exclaimed.

Molly gave him a coy smile "I had to see if you live up to my fantasies."

"And?"

"You _exceed_ them." She whispered in his ear and Sherlock smirked.

Considering that this might be their only time together, Molly stayed on top, making all the decisions. She wanted to touch and taste every part of his body, to run her fingers through his curls, to worship him at last.

While Sherlock thoroughly enjoyed the attention it was also slowly driving him right to the brink of bliss and it took all his strength to hold back "No more teasing Molly!"

Molly nodded, understanding what he meant. She could see his veins thumping, his eyes dilated with desire, his breath short. Carefully with a leg on each side of his body she sunk down on his erection, enveloping him, hot and moist.

"Urghh." Sherlock growled, gripping her hips with his long fingers and helping her up and down rhythmically. Molly mewled with pleasure, no longer in control and no longer caring. She braced her hands against his hard chest, clenching around him and watching him come undone because of her.

"I'm," Sherlock panted, speeding up "I'm sor-" he growled again "I'm sorry Molly!" he emptied himself inside her, Molly not quite making it there.

They were both sleek with sweat and Molly kissed a droplet from his earlobe "You have nothing to apologize for." she promised him, lying down on top of him to catch her breath.

"Oh!" she squealed surprised when Sherlock flipped them both over and put his finger _just _there.

"Yes I do," he insisted "but I'll make it up to you."

And that he did. His fingers inside her could've done the trick and had her writhing on the rumpled sheets, but when he added his skilled mouth Molly saw stars and lost it, her hips bucking wildly and an expletive dropping from her mouth.

He pressed a final kiss _just _there, withdrew his fingers and rested his head on her right thigh, both their eyes half-shut from delightful exhaustion. She petted his curls.

"If you go into Bart's with that smile no one is going to believe I'm dead." Sherlock said and Molly became keenly aware that she couldn't stop smiling. She giggled. He giggled. They crept together under the covers.

Lying nose to nose, Molly could barely stand to leave him "I have to go clean up." she whispered and Sherlock found himself watching her hips sway as she headed to the bathroom. While she was gone he straightened the sheets, read a text from Mycroft and poured the last of the scotch.

He'd almost finished his drink by the time she came back with a pair of comfortable trousers and a t-shirt for him from his suitcase in the living room. She put on her knickers and his shirt, daring him to say something about it.

Molly pressed up against him, dosing off "Do you think you can sleep now?"

"Maybe," Sherlock mumbled "but you should." he pressed a kiss to her temple and she sighed contently.

0o0

The next day when Molly returned from work only Toby was there to greet her. There was no sign of Sherlock, or even any sign that he'd ever been in her flat. Not even his shirt that she'd thrown in her laundry basket that same morning.

Mycroft sure worked efficiently.

Molly tried to tell herself that she understood it had to be this way, but the enamored girl inside her wanted at least a recognition of last night if not the last couple of weeks. She sat down in her armchair and scratched Toby between his ears.

An hour she still hadn't moved, but there was a knock on her door and with heavy feet she walked to answer it. A young, bespectacled, spotted boy looking too bright in his bike messenger uniform handed her a letter and a package. Molly tore into it, ignoring the boy's demands for a signature.

The letter was just an official writing that the will of Sherlock Holmes had been executed. When she opened the package she found his violin. Finally the tears fell. She sunk down on the floor, sobbing, making noises like a hurt animal.

"I'm sorry for your loss." The boy stammered, helping Molly sign for the package.

"He's really gone." She wept.

0o0

The first year he was gone he came to her flat on her birthday. He'd bought her a first edition of _Peter Pan_. Molly had clutched it to her chest, unable to grasp the fact that he was alive and right before her. When she hugged him he responded more than she expected him to and she thought he might be very lonely doing whatever it was he was doing.

The second time he came to see her was on Christmas Eve. This time he didn't bring any presents, but he had a bullet in his knee and his thigh.

Molly extracted both of them with him lying on her sofa and stitched up the wounds as best she could. Outside it was snowing and Sherlock kissed her before passing out.

He was gone before New Year's.

And then he didn't come around anymore. Molly began to think he had actually died and she mourned quietly, shutting herself off from the world for a long time. Until one day when the sun broke through heavy clouds that had gathered over London and a few birds chirped happily.

John called to tell her he had met someone.

Molly called her friend Meena and agreed to come to a party she was throwing, undoubtedly as a cover for her to finally meet Meena's husband's mate Tom, who they'd mentioned several times to her was single.

0o0

Clean shaven and in a tailored suit, Sherlock felt like himself again.

"Well little brother, ready to come alive again?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock looked at him, smiled like he knew a secret and said "To live will be an awfully big adventure."

**A/N: **The end. I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you can call panic induced hyperventilation over keeping Sherlock somewhat in character enjoyable … Fun fact: when I wrote the ending I accidentally typed 'love' instead of 'live' and I considered keeping it that way. The song Molly and Sherlock danced to is "You've Really Got A Hold On Me" by The Miracles.

Please do review!

**X X X LolaCherryColaGirl**


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